


Salvation (With a Few Detours Along the Way)

by Morgane (smilla840)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Episode Tag, Future Fic, M/M, Set in episode 504 'verse, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How it all went wrong, and eventually got better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation (With a Few Detours Along the Way)

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre-, during, and post-'The End', with a quasi-happy ending.
> 
> Originally posted at my livejournal.

Whenever the haze of drugs lifts Castiel remembers the early days of the war. Remembers when Dean was determined and optimistic and his soul shone brightly.

They were so young back then, Castiel too for all his millennia. He remembers their first kiss. Remembers how Dean tried to hide his nerves behind his usual blundering ways. Remembers the first time they made love and the times after that.

Things were so simple then: it was just the two of them, killing demons and fighting Lucifer one day at a time.

It didn’t last long.

The forces of Evil rally and so do hunters: they flock to Dean, looking for leadership. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t think he has the right. He doesn’t _want_ to be responsible for so many lives but there is no one else and Dean always was too self-sacrificing for his own good.

So he organizes them, sends them out to fight, loses good people. He gets harder, colder. More distant. He does things he would have shied away from before but doesn’t now because it might save lives. Castiel tries to help but he has no alternatives to offer and so Dean finds himself making desperate choices that aren’t choices at all, and Castiel hurts for him as he watches him lose bits and pieces of himself.

Then the virus hits. Sam happens. Hell on Earth.

The angels leave, and Castiel stays. He can’t go, not now. Not when he is the only one Dean won’t lose and therefore still lets close. Castiel is an angel of the Lord and nothing short of Lucifer is going to end him: Dean can send him out there and not have to worry about whether he’ll make it back or return infected.

And then that changes.

It’s the absence of the Host that hits Castiel first. It’s like a part of him has been torn off, leaving him hollow and bleeding inside. Jimmy’s death was nothing compared to this because he can’t feel his brothers anymore. Even when they shunned him he was still aware of them but now there is… nothing. He’s never been alone in his own head before, so completely and utterly alone, and it _hurts_. 

He lives in a daze as his Grace withers and dies, and he can feel it slowly leave him as he grows more tired and needs rest, as he starts healing less quickly.

Dean’s presence is the only thing that helps and Castiel thinks maybe it’s because of the little sparks of his Grace that still live inside Dean – mementos of the time Castiel pulled him out of Hell and made him whole again –, soothing the sharp edges of the hole inside him.

He’ll never forget the day he tells Dean his Grace has left him, the betrayed look on his face that badly masks how terrified he truly is that Castiel will die on him too. That day is the beginning of the end for them. The more human he becomes the more the pain grows and the more remote Dean is, until the man can barely stand to look at him anymore. And so Castiel can’t bring himself to tell him how much it hurts because Dean would only feel more guilt.

It comes to the point when the loneliness is eating Castiel alive, the raw parts of his mind screaming for kindred spirits, and all he wants to do is curl in a ball and die. He doesn’t though: he can’t leave Dean alone and truly that speaks of more arrogance than Castiel ever thought he had: after all, what good can he be now? He is useless.

Human.

Chuck is the one who suggests alcohol. It works at first but eventually it stops being enough and drugs are the next best thing. And it helps. Saves his life, really, numbing the pain enough to keep him functioning and – when he is lucky – making him forget for a little while.

Sex is the next logical step to try and fill the hollowness inside him. Since Dean is nowhere to be found he turns to others to create those superficial bonds that form between people who are intimate. It isn’t much but it does the job well enough, makes it seem like he isn’t so alone after all.

Dean hates it. Hates the pills and the orgies and how human he’s become. There’s contempt there too, for the drugs if not for the women, but what Dean doesn’t seem to realize is that it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

Castiel hates himself too, almost as much as he hates Dean for reducing him to this. For not being there when he needed him and for leaving him no other option. It makes no sense because he is the one who made that choice, not Dean, and even now he still loves him. 

Human emotions are so confusing.

They still have sex now and then and it’s angry and desperate, leaving them both covered in bruises Dean can’t bear to look at the next day, a glaring reminder of how mortal Castiel is.

And, just as Castiel starts thinking things can’t possibly get any worse, they do.

Bobby dies.

They find him at his house during one of their rounds, riddled with bullets and barely holding on. Dean insists he can make it and brings him back to the camp, deaf to the others’ protests and the threat of contamination. It’s the first time Dean’s shown faith and optimism in a long time and Castiel is glad.

Until it turns out Bobby _was_ infected and he takes out ten of their people before Dean is forced to put him down.

Dean shuts down completely after that and no matter how irreverent or outrageous Castiel behaves he can’t make him loosen up. And Lord knows he tries.

 

By the time Dean’s younger self shows up out of the blue, courtesy of Zachariah, they’re a mess. Dean is doing the stoic leader crap and Castiel is stoned out of his mind, high on drugs and booze and women. They’re broken, the two of them, the pieces so tangled together that they can’t tell which belongs to whom in order to put them back where they belong.

The Dean from the past is so different. He seeks Castiel out and when he looks at him Castiel _knows_ him. It’s an odd feeling, one that makes his gut clench painfully, a forceful reminder of what they’ve lost, of the price they’ve had to pay.

This Dean is so _young_. Barely a year out of Hell and yet undaunted, full of the principles that made Castiel believe in him in the first place. He is also clueless, untouched by the events that have shaped them both, and his confusion over the changes in both of them makes Castiel laugh mirthlessly.

He likes this Dean but he has to wonder how long he would last in their world, feeling as much and as obviously as he does. And for the first time Castiel truly understands how necessary his Dean’s transformation was, his way of coping when Castiel’s is pills. They both had other options but in the end they chose the one that only brought pain to themselves – or so they thought.

A glimmer of hope sparks deep inside Castiel as he watches the two Dean together. Past or present, it’s _Dean_. At first glance it may look like all they have in common is their outer appearance but Castiel _sees_ differently: down to the core they’re still the same, that man who fought and loved and gave up so much of himself. That will never change, no matter what choices he makes. Hell proved that: Dean came back from it, a changed man but still _good_.

But Dean always was his own worst enemy, needing others to believe in him when he found himself unworthy. Castiel used to do that for him and then he stopped and that’s his failure as much as Dean’s.

He just hopes it’s not too late to make it right.

 

Dean won’t look at him when he barks his orders minutes before storming Lucifer’s stronghold, and Castiel knows they won’t get that time. Dean could never lie to him, no more than he can lie to himself judging from the disbelief on his younger self’s face as he drags him away.

Castiel wants to tell him that it’s okay. That he welcomes the relief that comes with the knowledge of his impending death. He always knew he would die for this man, this complicated and irritating and beautiful man he still loves despite the odds. If Dean needs his sacrifice in order to succeed then Castiel will do it with peace in his heart. It would hardly be the first time after all, even if last time hardly qualifies as a success.

His death will be the last straw, he knows that. The man may have convinced himself he doesn’t care anymore but Castiel knows better. It will break Dean, shattering an already shattered man, but it might deaden him enough to give him the strength to pull the trigger and kill the monster wearing Sam’s face.

He hopes Dean ends this war today. If he doesn’t he’ll be dead by the end of the month or will have turned into someone they’d both wish didn’t exist.

Castiel wants him to live, and learn to be happy again. Forgive himself for Sam, and move on.

He checks his weapon one last time, checks his pockets for extra clips, and when Dean comes back – alone – he’s ready. He doesn’t ask where the other Dean is – that he is safe is all that matters. Hopefully the younger man will have an easier life than his Dean had. Will be able to change whatever it is that needs changing so that they don’t end up like this.

As Dean moves past him Castiel stops him with a hand on his shoulder – his mark. His unexpected action gets a sharp intake of breath out of Dean and Castiel lets his hand travel upwards to grasp the back of his neck.

“Good luck,” he tells him, bringing their lips together for one last chaste kiss.

Dean clings to him and for a second Castiel thinks he won’t let him go but eventually Dean takes a step back, looking wrecked and Castiel nods at him encouragingly.

“I have faith in you.”

Dean seems surprised and Castiel hurts for him but there is no time: Dean needs to kill Lucifer, and they need to make it easy for him.

They part ways and Castiel knows he’ll never see Dean again.

 

The fighting seems to last forever, dozens of croats swarming on them, and by the time the last gunshot echoes in the empty wards Castiel is the only one still standing.

Not for long, he thinks wryly, holding his side. His hand is painted red but he forces himself to move, one step at the time, towards the back entrance. Towards Dean.

When he gets there there is a body on the ground, its head twisted at an angle that’s just _wrong_ , and it’s so painfully familiar that Castiel forgets to breathe.

No.

No no nonononono, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, not again. Dean can’t have failed, not this time, not when the consequences are too overwhelming to consider.

Dean can’t be dead, not if Castiel is still alive, because that would mean Castiel is alone and – no. Just no.

He falls to his knees next to him and the pain in his chest flairs. He can’t breathe, and he doesn’t know if it’s the wound or something else, something like grief and anger and despair.

“Dean,” he says, chocking on the word. That single word that used to mean so much now seems entirely devoid of sense, just like the shell in front of him.

He reaches out for him, his fingers ghosting over skin that’s still warm, and for a split second he closes his eyes and allows himself to believe that Dean’s just sleeping, just sleeping. But Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t swat his hand away impatiently and say they’ve got a job to do and Castiel can’t pretend anymore.

Dean’s dead and Castiel isn’t and it’s just _wrong_.

So he tries. He tries really hard to heal him, tries to reach that spark that still exists deep inside him and that only ever flares up for Dean but nothing happens – of course it doesn’t – and in his desperation Castiel does the only thing he can think of.

He prays.

He hasn’t prayed in a long time, not since he couldn’t find God and Heaven left them to fend for themselves. He knew then that they weren’t listening. He hopes they are now.

“Well, well, well…”

Zachariah’s voice makes him look up, hope warring with wariness inside him. The blood loss is making him light-headed and he has to blink for his eyes to adjust.

“Look at you – you’re pathetic.”

“Heal him,” he says – begs, orders – and Zachariah raises an ironic eyebrow.

“Him? What about you? You’re dying, brother.” His mouth curls up in disgust on the last word but Castiel doesn’t care.

“We need him,” he pleads. Without Dean there is no resistance, there is no future. It’s too much for one man to carry but Dean does and for that reason Castiel will forgive everything if he just opens his eyes.

“ _I_ don’t,” Zachariah says, crushing all hope, and Castiel sways from the invisible blow. “Besides I have business to attend to with the younger one.”

Castiel blinks and Zachariah is gone, leaving him feeling emptier than before. There is wetness on his face and he wipes it distractedly – is he crying? For all his humanity he doesn’t think he’s ever cried before. It’s a strange feeling.

“Father,” he whispers. “Please…”

And suddenly there is light and the power that fills him is both foreign and familiar, every cell in his very human body screaming in pain. It burns through him and he doesn’t think: he just pushes it at Dean with all his might, desperate to fix him, bring him back. He hears bones crack and feels Dean’s first breath and that’s when the power leaves him and he shivers, feeling cold again.

He would mourn its departure except Dean’s eyes are open and his face is naked in a way it hasn’t been in a long time. For a split second they are as they once were and then Castiel’s eyes roll back in his head and he falls into the black.

Peace, at last.

 

He doesn’t remember much of the next few days. There is the gunshot wound and the withdrawal and pain, so much pain, and he is grateful that he spends most of it unconscious. Every once in a while he surfaces, half-forgotten memories of people – Dean – sitting by his side and telling him what an idiot he is. 

On the day his body is finally strong enough to let his mind truly awaken, Castiel wakes up to a vast nothingness raging inside him. All the drugs have cleared from his system and it _hurts_ , nothing to buffer it and no Dean sitting next to him. He can barely feel the healing wound as he shakily pushes himself up, desperate for something to take the edge off. He can’t find his pills – Dean, you bastard! – and so he stumbles outside, the pain going crescendo with each step taken.

He ends up curled up on the forest floor in a pathetic ball, unfelt tears trailing down his face at how alone he is feeling, until hands haul him up and – 

Dean.

“What’s wrong?” Dean sounds panicked as he pats him down but already the pain is receding, the remnants of his Grace that linger inside Dean singing out to him and soothing the raw misery he was feeling just seconds ago. 

Castiel takes a shaky breath and buries himself closer to Dean, letting him support his weight as he savours the brief respite.

“Damn it, Cas, talk to me!” Dean is angry now and that’s more like it, more like what Castiel is used to as Dean drags him back to his cabin and deposits him on the bed.

Castiel looks at Dean, at the worry and frustration on his face, and he tells him, in a halting voice, what he should have told him years ago. He tells him about the void inside him where his brothers’ voices used to be. About how alone it makes him feel, like a huge part of him is missing, and how that awareness is always there, lingering on the edge of his psyche like a festering wound.

“It’s better when you’re there,” he tells Dean, a soft admission he never wanted to make because the last thing he wants is Dean sacrificing more of himself for him.

“Christ, Cas…” Dean sighs and he seems so tired now. “Why the fuck didn’t you say something? I thought –”

“You thought I was embracing a human lifestyle – drugs, sex and rock n’ roll, baby.” A ghost of a smile twists Castiel’s lips. “Following your example.”

“Hey! I don’t do drugs!”

“But you did take me to a whorehouse.”

Dean looks wishful. “That was a good night.”

“Yeah it was…”

Castiel closes his eyes and waits with bated breath for Dean to make a decision, close himself off again or take a chance. He only allows himself to relax when the other man gets rid of his shoes and slips under the covers with him, relief making him light-headed. Dean hasn’t slept – just slept – with him in a long time and it’s a small step, but one that’s definitely going in the right direction.

“Sam killed me,” Dean says quietly and the night holds its breath.

“No,” Castiel says, forceful and absolute because it’s important Dean understands this. “Lucifer did. Not Sam.”

Dean sighs and nods. He’s just humouring him, Castiel can tell, but at least he is talking. “What happened – after? How did I come back?”

“The Lord saved you.”

Dean snorts inelegantly. “Come on, Cas! Not that God-crap again.”

“Dean,” he admonishes sternly.

Silence answers him, then:

“Really?” Dean finally whispers, a fragile hope in his voice.

“Yes.”

But Dean is not one to believe easily. “If he is still around, then why isn’t he doing anything about Sa- Lucifer?”

“He brought you back, didn’t he?”

“And a whole lot of good I am.” Dean’s tone turns ugly, full of self-loathing and Castiel instinctively reaches out for him.

“Dean –”

“What? It’s true. I’m as bad as they are. You think so and so do I – both Is.”

“No,” Castiel says, his voice suddenly loud in the darkness. “We’ve had our differences, you and I, but I never thought that of you.” He hesitates for a second and then forges on: “But the tortures need to stop.”

A hurt look crosses Dean’s face for the briefest of moments before he automatically lashes out: 

“You think I enjoy it? We need the intel!”

“We need you more,” Castiel shoots back, just as fierce. “It’s destroying your soul.”

Dean opens his mouth to protest but instead he deflates, looking beyond tired as he rubs his face.

“I hate it.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know if I can stop,” Dean finally confesses and Castiel wraps his arms around him, ignoring Dean’s attempts to push him away.

He isn’t letting him, not this time.

“I’ll help.”

“Still watching out for me, uh?”

“Always,” Castiel says and Dean exhales noisily.

“Fine. Then no more pills for you. I hate those things.”

It’s only fair and Castiel nods. “I might… need help as well.”

“I can do that. No more orgies either – unless I’m there,” he adds belatedly and Castiel smiles against his shoulder.

There is hope for them yet, he thinks. The road ahead will be long and rocky but they’re walking it together now. It will probably look like a bad idea most of the time – they’re still broken, the two of them, and they’ll hurt each other, accidentally or on purpose. But Castiel knows that it will be worth it. _Dean_ is worth it. 

And you know what? 

They might just make it.


End file.
